Seduction on the Cards (3 page)

Trapped and astounded, she stared at him, trying to find a few casual words to extricate herself with. The faintest waft of almond fragrance floated in the air. 

No, no words. Her brain wasn’t processing efficiently now he was so close. 

She could see every tiny spike of his dark day-old stubble. Every curving black eyelash with its unexpected golden tip. All the blue-on-blue stripes in his eyes.

She dragged in a breath and smelled almonds again. His cologne? Something European and expensive? Why didn’t he smell like leather?

“Why don’t you smell like leather?” she asked, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

The slightest twitch of his lips told her he knew what she was really saying.

“It’s called Cognac. You like it?” He reached over and caught her hand. Drew it slowly up his neck and rubbed it against the skin of his jaw as though he was a big cat claiming territory. Kerri felt the pounding pulse in his throat, then the bristly rasp of his beard as her fingers slid higher.

His hand held hers prisoner. He turned his face a few degrees and his lips slid over her palm. Warm firm lips. Warm soft breath. Such an intimate and unexpected sensation that her small whimper of want and appreciation escaped into the shivering air between them.

He drew in a breath.

“Now I can smell me on your skin.”

He moved his face so his lips grazed over the sensitive inside of her wrist and part-way up her forearm.

“And I can smell you, too. I like you better than my Cognac.”

“There’s...nothing...there,” she stammered.

“There’s you. Not perfume—your own scent. Sweet as sugar.”

Kerri stared at him, snared by his eyes, his hand, his thighs—desperate to move away but apparently as transfixed as a small bird by the unwavering gaze of a snake. 

No-one’s eyes had ever held hers like that. No-one had invited, indeed demanded, physical contact so soon. Within seconds of meeting her he’d had his hand on her nape and her face practically against his trousers. Now he’d thrust his knee between hers, had drawn her fingers against his face, and run his lips over her skin. He’d also pushed up her sleeve so he could draw her scent into his long straight nose. 

And she’d said he wasn’t much of a threat?

“Now you,” he said, aching seconds later as he brushed her hand down his face. Again she felt his breath against her skin, but this time there was no contact from his lips. She wanted his lips—that soft slow drift of his warm mouth over her wrist, so much more personal than the perfunctory kiss he’d mockingly given her fingers when she’d first entered his office. 

And maybe his lips on her wrist weren’t nearly enough? His lips on her neck would be nicer. His lips settling at the join of her shoulders and neck, and then nibbling higher to that tender spot just below her ear, and down the sensitive edge of her jaw until they met with hers.

What the hell is happening to me?

“Oh God,” she muttered. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what,
cherie?”

“Don’t be like this.”

“But I thought you liked the scent of my Cognac and wanted more?”

“Mmmm...”

“So here’s more.”

And, limp as a rag-doll, she felt him moving her arm and settling her hand over her own nose and mouth. She sniffed. Yes, the almond smell was stronger, and she just bet if she got close enough to breathe in properly he’d smell even better than this faint fragrance her own skin had absorbed from his. 

If she was sugar, maybe he’d be
brown
sugar – deeper, richer, tanned and foreign...

His mobile suddenly intruded with a short burst of Beethoven. Cursing under his breath, Alex relaxed the clamp of his knees, released her hand and pushed back his chair so he could check the caller ID.

“I must take this,” he apologized after checking the screen. “It’s the important call I had to defer earlier. Leave your home address with Lydia,” he added. “Wear trousers and a warm jacket and we’ll conclude our interview this evening.”

Kerri shook her head and lurched up out of her chair. The spell was broken.

“What?”

“For the dinner you agreed to. A very nice dinner. I’ll take you somewhere you’ll find interesting, and then we can talk.”

She stared at him, seeing only temptation and danger.

“No, I couldn’t possibly have dinner with you now. Not after...that.”

He smiled—a warm and wicked grin. “That was nothing,
cherie.
”

Kerri grabbed her briefcase and raced from the room, more flustered and overheated than she could ever remember.

Nothing? 

Nothing to him, maybe. 

To her it had been a revelation the scent of a man could be such a turn-on. That she’d enjoyed his touch so intensely. 

Wanted more and dared not take it. 

As for leaving her home address with Lydia—not in a million years! She pulled his office door closed behind her and huffed out a huge breath of frustration. 

How had he done that? And worse, why had she let him?

Encouraged him, even? 

It was no way for a competent journalist to behave. She had absolutely nothing for her article in Saturday’s paper. She’d have to try and cobble something together from his speech and bits she could glean from Google...

“Merci beaucoup. Au revoir.”

Alexandre concluded his phone call, placed the mobile back on the desk, and began to pace to and fro with agitation.  

What the hell? He’d never grabbed for a woman like that. Never felt such a ridiculous rush of—what? 

Testosterone? 

Possession? 

Possession had him worried; that was far too intimate a word for what had happened. But the instant he’d seen her pupils dilate and her lips part in that soft astounded way...the moment he’d registered the mutual attraction...he’d been out of control. He’d had to pull his chair closer to hers, had to touch her, had to draw her hand against his face so he could breathe in her scent and somehow imprint himself on her in return. 

And now she’d turned down his dinner invitation. He wanted to enjoy her tart company over a good meal. And take the opportunity to talk some sense into her too. The girl simply couldn’t go around flirting and letting men touch her like that. The unscrupulous ones would take advantage of her. 

The unscrupulous ones like you?
his rock-hard erection suggested hopefully. 

A few minutes later, once he appeared less rampant, he strode out to find Lydia, mindful his next appointment was now close.

“Have you seen Ms Lush again?” 

“I thought she was still with you, Monsieur Beaufort.” 

He shook his head and scanned the remaining people in the big room. No small breathless reporter in red stilettos was anywhere in sight. He tried to suppress his annoyance. After all, it wasn’t poor devoted Lydia’s fault.

“She was going to leave an address with you,” he added. “When you find it, please see that I get it.”

Lydia inclined her head as he turned on his heel and loped away. 

Five minutes later Alex paced his office, seething. The delectable Ms Lush had not left her address. Lydia’s search had turned up only a duplicate business card. Kerri had decided to avoid him, and he reluctantly conceded he couldn’t blame her. 

He needed to apologize for his behavior. 

He closed his eyes and the scene sprang all too clearly into his mind. The tension between them had been electric. There’d been such flirty challenge in her big brown eyes that the urge to plaster himself up against her compact curvy body had been irresistible. He’d simply had to touch her and inhale her enticing scent, but he’d neither planned nor expected to enjoy it so much. 

Then he grinned. The perfect excuse to see her again had just presented itself. Her mini-recorder still sat on the corner of his desk. He clicked it off and rewound it to the start of the tape, wanting to hear her voice again. Wanting to relive the conversation that had just jerked his body and brain so alive.

He shook his head as he heard her admit so blithely to her enjoyment of gambling, closed his eyes as his own voice claimed he’d never considered making love a wasted effort, pictured again her naughty grin as she suggested his ‘odds’ were not that huge. Then was appalled to hear himself say “As long as I don’t try to get you pregnant, I suppose”. 

Hell—he’d only been joking—a flippant comment in a flirty conversation. It sounded terrible now. Had it sounded as bad to her?

A second or two later had come her cool recovery of “Not a hope in hell.”

He’d deserved that. But somehow it had turned him on so much he’d rolled his chair towards hers until they were knee-to-knee. Yes, that was the small shuffling noise of it. And then the answering shuffle of her chair and her breathy enquiry of “Why don’t you smell like leather?”

The almost-silence must be where he’d reached for her, brought her hand over to caress his face, and inhaled the perfume of her skin. And that tiny whimper told him he wasn’t the only one on fire. Then there were soft to-and-fro comments until her clearly anguished “Oh God. Don’t.”

“Don’t what,
cherie
?”

“Don’t be like this.”

Grimacing, he switched it off. Why was he torturing himself? He couldn’t consider seducing her. Didn’t want or need the distraction of such an irresponsible woman. That way lay mess and mayhem and all the torments of his childhood.

He glanced at his watch. Would she be back at the newspaper offices yet? He dialed her direct line, hoping for someone else’s voice.

“Kerri’s phone, Sarah speaking.”  

Luck was on his side. He relaxed a little.

“Sarah—can you ‘elp me please,” he said, laying the French accent on a little thicker than necessary. “It’s Alex Beaufort. Your Ms Kerri Lush ‘as just left my office, and I have noticed zat ‘er little recording machine is still on my desk. I need to leave ‘ere straight away, but my driver could drop it off this evening so she ‘as it ready for tomorrow. Do you ‘ave an address for Kerri by any wonderful chance?”

Apparently charmed, Sarah suggested it could be delivered to the office.

“Not so easy I’m afraid. My driver eez not free until after business hours.”

“We’re open late—we’re a newspaper.”

“But, security...?” he hazarded.

“Oh, that could be difficult, I suppose. Home’s fine then. We’ll be there from about six o’clock.”

“We? You are friends?”

“Flat-mates. For nearly a year now. Up in Kelburn.”

Alexandre relaxed a little more.

“And ze address?” he purred.

Like taking candy from a baby, he decided as he disconnected, tucked the slip of paper into his pocket and zipped it in. 

You can’t avoid me quite so easily, Ms Kerrigan Lush.

When Kerri climbed her front steps, six dollars poorer because the Scratch’n’Win cards she’d bought had proved to be Scratch’n’Losers yet again, Alex rose from where he’d been concealed on a hard seat in the nearby bus-shelter. He gave her a few minutes to settle and then bounded up the steps to the bright blue timber-and-glass door.  

He knocked. A dark-haired shape appeared behind the dimpled glass panel. The door swung open and Enya’s ‘Orinoco Flow’ wafted out. Alex inserted his boot before the door could be shut again.  

“You!” Kerri gasped. “I’m not coming—um—not going out with you.” A vivid blush suffused her cheeks as he stood there enjoying her outrage and confusion.

“Of course you are,
cherie
—for a special meal prepared by my good friend Gaston, who runs a cooking school from his home. I said it would be interesting for you, and I meant it.”

“No Monsieur Beaufort, I’m sorry.”

“Yes Ms Kerri, it’s all arranged,” he said, noting her futile attempt at formality. He stepped further inside, closed the door behind him, and glanced around with interest. He found the room the essence of femininity—the music pulsed and swelled, fashion magazines were strewn on a low table, scented candles flickered, and a tall vase of pink lilies stood on a sideboard beside a shaded lamp. Her red shoes lay abandoned on the shaggy cream rug. 

The contrast of this soft feminine world with his own hard masculine environment emphasized again the gulf between them. His gaze settled back on her as she planted her hands on her hips and tried to look threatening.

 “You’re dangerous,” she accused. “I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

“Is everything okay?” a tall blonde girl asked as she carried two coffees through into the living room. 

“No!” Kerri exclaimed.

“
Oui
,” Alex insisted. “
Bonsoir
Sarah.”

“Oh, you’re him,” Sarah beamed, recognizing the accent. “You’ve brought Kerri’s recorder back yourself.”

“I gave my driver the night off.”

“What?” Kerri demanded, glaring first at Alexandre and then at Sarah as though they’d somehow ganged up on her.

“He has your recorder,” Sarah explained.

“He has my address,” Kerri muttered.

Alex produced the recorder from his pocket and waved it airily in her direction.

“And your little machine,” he said. “You agreed to come out for dinner. Keep your promise and I’ll give it back to you.”

“And if I won’t?” She fixed him with furious eyes.

He clicked the recorder on and Kerri heard herself moan “Oh God. Don’t.” An incoherent gasp followed, and he switched it off, hopefully before Sarah could register what was happening.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Kerri shrieked, making a lunge for the recorder.

Alex held it up out of her reach. With a desperate flying leap, she attached herself to him like a limpet—legs clamped around his waist, one arm clutching his head, the other flailing for the big masculine hand holding the small machine aloft.

Sarah whooped with laughter.

“Go Kerri,” she encouraged, setting the coffees down beside the lilies on the sideboard.

Kerri felt Alex take further advantage of the fortunate situation he found himself in. Because his face was now buried between her breasts he planted a hot wet open-mouthed kiss there. 

“Stop that!” she squealed, trying to pull back, only to find that he’d wrapped his other arm around her so he could hold her close.